Happy Birthday England!
by EvanescingSky
Summary: In which it seems that France has forgotten England's birthday, but in reality, he has something very special planned! One-sided EnglandxFrance


Happy Birthday England!

England was standing by the bus stop, feeling profoundly upset. In fact, his stomach was a veritable storm of unpleasant emotions, which had made sitting through the World Council meeting today (held in Lille) utter hell. Worst of all, no one, not one person! Seemed to realize anything was wrong. Not stupid America, who had spewed hamburger all over England's papers when he greeted him, not oblivious Spain, who was being yelled at by Romano, not even dumbass France. England felt a searing flame of anger burn in his chest at the thought of France. _So apparently you can sleep with me every other night conscience-free, but when it comes to recognizing when something's wrong, that's too much commitment for you?_ But finally it was over and he could retreat back to London and suffer in privacy. However, the universe had other plans for him.

"_Angleterre_! Those meetings get duller every month," France said, strolling up to stand beside England. He looked unreasoningly content and it made England want to slap him.

What do you want, France?" England asked sulkily, not looking at France.

"I just wanted to say hello." France leaned forward and kissed England's throat, ignoring the Englishman's bad mood. "What's the matter, _mon cher_?"

"Nothing you need to trouble yourself with," England assured him moodily. If France didn't know, England surely wasn't going to tell him.

"Oh, I know what's wrong!" France trilled. From his coat he withdrew a reservation to one of the finest restaurants in Paris. "You thought I forgot your birthday, didn't you _Angleterre_?"

England looked at the reservation paper, feeling emotion well up inside him. _He remembered! France remembered my birthday! And he got us such fine reservations!_ His mood was instantly forgotten as elation pulsed through him. France did care!

"Of course I wasn't upset about a stupid thing like that! It's just that…America's been really annoying today," England protested aggressively, inwardly dying at the thought of France knowing how much his apparent apathy had wounded him.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," France sang much to England's annoyance. He crossed his arms and scowled as France threw his arm around England's waist and started to lead him off down the road. But he didn't pull away.

"Where are you taking me?" England demanded, in a slightly more forgiving tone. He felt a surge of affection for his typically loathsome neighbor.

"Shopping of course!" France said cheerily. "You need something nice to wear for tonight!"

"I have nice things!" England protested, aghast at the idea that he didn't dress well enough. France had been outdoing him style-wise since the beginning of time. He tried to squirm out of France's grasp.

"Oh, _Angleterre_, don't be difficult," France sighed, as though England were an ignorant child. "You know your things are far too drab to go to dinner at _Les Enfants Perdu_!"

For a moment, England was speechless with irritation. "You frog! My clothes are plenty fine! I'd rather wear nothing before I wear something of yours!"

But of course, this threat had no impact on France. He only grinned. "I'd like to see that," he said, leaning in to nuzzle England's neck.

"Stop it," England protested weakly, feeling his knees start to wobble. "We're in public…"

France snickered. "As you wish, _mon cher_. I will save it for later." He winked in a way that made England blush to know what France was thinking and led him into a shopping mall. Despite England's attempts to dissuade him, France led England to at least seven shops gathering up a dress shirt, black jeans, shoes and other accessories for tonight.

"Think of it as my birthday present to you," he said with a smile. There were times, like today, when France could be so generous and thoughtful it made England's heart warm. His heart was in the right place most of the time, he just went about things the wrong way. For his sake, England set aside his wounded pride and took the gifts from France and endured the many outfits France made him try on as well as his sexual remarks about each one. The worst though, had been at Zara, when France had tried to come into the changing room with him. A sales rep had spotted them and immediately rushed over to ask if they needed another room. France had leered at her and assured her everything was under control. England had taken the opportunity to muscle the blonde out of the stall and close the door on his hand.

"Aiiie! Arthur, don't be such a child!" France yelped, holding his hand. "That was completely uncalled for."

"You tried to come into the changing stall with me!" England exclaimed, outraged.

"I only wanted to see your gorgeous figure, _mon lapin_," France said, as if that made anything better. "You have such a nice ass."

"Shut up!" England yelled, slamming a fist against the door. "And keep your goddamn eyes off my ass!"

"Ohonhonhonhon! You can't hide forever, _ma fils_!"

The sales rep had returned and escorted them out of the store.

"Really, _Angleterre,_" France had sighed as they left empty-handed. "That was most undignified of you."

England had been too furious to reply.

It had been around four o'clock by the time France was satisfied with England's outfit and England was mentally traumatized from the events of the day, which included the escapade in Zara, France trying to put a lacy bra on England, France making it into the changing room with England and then groping him when he tried to change and countless horrifying (but complimentary, in a very sick sort of way) comments. He actually had bruises from getting crushed against a wall as he tried to throw France off of his back.

France was in a good mood though, checking his phone and grinning, whistling as he walked England down the sidewalk.

"Where are we going now?" England despaired of being able to handle any more shopping with France.

"I'm going to give you a ride to the train station," France said as if it were obvious. He seemed surprised England hadn't assumed this already. "I thought you'd want to get ready back in your own country."

"Oh."

"You sound like you expected something else." France raised an eyebrow and looked over at England, struggling under the weight of several bags and boxes.

"I wasn't aware that you could think of others, aside from wanting to sleep with them," England said.

"_Angleterre_! I'm insulted!" France cried. "I think of others all the time! Haven't I spent my whole day shopping with you? And I never kissed you, not once! Because I know you don't like doing that in public." England was about to fire back something about how France had still molested him on several occasions when he realized that France was under the impression he had really reigned it in. "I've been on my best behavior almost all day and you haven't even noticed," France pouted.

Oh, that was so unfair! France was never more adorable than when he felt slighted. The petulant look on his face, the way he stuck out his lower lip…It melted England like butter. But he'd never let France know that.

"If that was your best behavior, I'd hate to see your worst," he grumbled, the worst of his anger doused by France's expression.

"You're so mean!" France stopped in front of a black convertible. England thought he might actually stamp his foot with the way this little tirade was going. But he just unlocked the car and got in. "I do all these nice things for you and all you do is complain! The only time you say nice things is when we're rolling between the sheets." He turned on the car and pulled out, leaving England to turn tomato red over his phrasing. Maybe he had pushed France a little far. But to be honest he hadn't realized France cared what he said. "Not that it's anything unusual," France continued. He was on a roll now. "But it does wear on the soul after a while…I'm not used to spending so much time with you."

England sighed. He knew he needed to be the gentleman he always proclaimed himself to be. "I'm sorry France," he muttered. "Thanks for taking me out shopping. You didn't have to and it was a very…kind gesture."

France contemplated this apology, but England suspected, drama queen that he was, France would sulk a bit longer before he relented. And he did. By the time they were pulling up the train station France still hadn't spoken.

"Thank you for the ride." England gathered up his stuff and swung one leg out of the car to go, but France caught his wrist and pulled him back, locking their lips together.

"I forgive you, _ma __cœur_," France said with a crooked smile. "Now go and get ready! We're out for a night of fun this evening!" He smacked England's rear and sent him off with a look so adorable it should have been illegal, according to England. England gave him a small, reluctant smile and lifted one hand, laden down with bags in a goodbye gesture as he entered the train station. France waved and closed his car door, speeding off down the road.

England spent the remaining two hours before his dinner reservations getting ready. He showered off, washed and dried his hair, arranged his new outfit (It felt rather strange to be wearing French fashion. England resolved to only wear it when he was going to see France.), tucked a rose into his shirt pocket and then spent twenty minutes pacing around the house, making sure everything was perfect.

Sealand, seated on the couch and watching T.V, watched him pass with some amusement; something clearly had his father in a tizzy.

"Hey jerk-Arthur!" he called. "What's going on? You're acting really weird!"

"None of your business," England snapped. "And stop calling me that!"

"But jerk-Arthur," Sealand whined, "you're already going to leave me here with Scotland all night! The least you could do is tell me where you're going."

"You love Scotland. More than me," England added under his breath. "And as I said, it is none of your concern where I'm going."

Sealand was silent for a moment. "So who's the flower for?"

"Pardon?" England asked, flustered.

"The rose. You never take roses unless they're for a lady," Sealand smirked. "But you never get dates…did you ask someone out? Are you going to get it on with a pretty girl? Is it Belgium?"

"Where did you even hear that phrase?" England exclaimed, his cheeks flushing. "Perhaps you have been spending too much time with Scotland…"

Sealand leaped off the couch and ran over to grab England's pant leg. "And you've got new clothes! You're dressed up like France!" he declared. "Is that why you were late coming home? Were you with France? Are you going to see him now?"

Fortunately, England was saved from having to answer (His tongue was too tied up in knots to reply anyway) by the revving of a familiar engine.

"Uncle Scotland!" Sealand banged out the front door and ran down to get his greeting slug in the arm by his red-haired uncle. _Thank God for the boy's short attention span!_

"Thanks ever so much for watching him!" England said, hurrying past his brother. The less time they spent talking the better. "I'll be back late so you can sleep in the guest room! And Sealand needs to be in bed by eight!" As he got into his car he heard Sealand's protest: "That's so unfair! I'm never tired by eight!"

But he ignored the boy. He was Scotland's problem for the next few hours. England, for his part, was light-headed with excitement as he drove towards the train station again. Dinner with France! A whole evening alone with France! _Don't get your hopes up,_ he told himself sternly. _France is a total womanizer. Don't get in over your head._ If England had known anything about love, he would have known that it was already too late for that admonishment. He was chained up so tight with his love for France it would be impossible to separate their fates now.

So the foolish man hurried onto the train, clutching the bouquet of flowers he had bought for his sweetheart, completely unaware that he was head-over-heels in love. He took a taxi from the train station to _Les Enfants Perdu_.

"Going on a date?" the cab driver asked.

"Yes," England said breathlessly.

"Don't sweat it man, you look great," the cab driver said generously. He flashed a smile at England. "She's a lucky gal."

England almost corrected him, but then decided it wasn't worth it.

"Thank you," he said politely. When he got out, he didn't immediately see France's car, so he asked for reservations under 'Francis Bonnefoy'. The stunning waiter led him to a quaint little table outside, beneath a white hanging. There was a bench with pillows in place of a chair on one side. England took the chair, thinking France would probably rather have the loveseat himself. The next half an hour passed in idleness. After fifteen minutes, England ordered a bottle of wine.

"Where the devil could he be?" he asked himself, finishing his second glass. He took a toothpick from the center display and began to trace pictures on the wooden tabletop. Another fifteen minutes later, France showed up.

"Sorry to be late_, amour_, I was tied up," France said, sliding smoothly into his seat, looking beautiful, as always. England blushed with embarrassment.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting?" he demanded, stung.

"I know, I know. I'm terribly sorry Arthur. You look ravishing, by the way." He looked genuinely apologetic, so England relented. He thrust the bouquet over the table.

"These are for you," he muttered.

A bright smile split France's face. "Oh, Arthur! You should not have! They are just gorgeous!" He got up from his seat and crossed over to England's to give him a smooch on the cheek.

"Stop that." England pushed him back. "We're in a restaurant."

"You're blushing, _cherie_," France whispered in his ear, his warm breath stirring the hair by England's ear. This only made England blush more, which was France's intent.

France had it in good with the people in the restaurant and in no time England was served up with a dish of the most succulent steak he had ever had with a delectable side of spiced potatoes and a salad. France ordered another glass of red wine and they toasted to many more birthdays for both of them. Although France resisted any more public displays of affection, he didn't hesitate to start a game of footsie beneath the table, which was mostly France stroking England's foot while England did his best to kick France in the shin.

England would never say it, but today had been one of the best days he could remember. Talking with France across a candlelit table over angel-worthy food was incredible. To have France's undivided attention outside of the bedroom was something he had never even dreamed of. For desert, France ordered a slice of raspberry cheesecake to share. They split the piece and England was sure that France was deliberately making more out of each bite to taunt him; the way he sucked the chocolate sauce off and licked the cake before putting it in his mouth. England would have socked him if it didn't have the desired effect.

"You've got chocolate on your mouth," France announced after they had finished. He reached across the table and wiped it off with his thumb and then licked it off. He grinned at England, who knew this was in place of the 'no kissing in public' rule England had tried to establish.

"You're the worst," England told him.

"I know." France smirked.

As soon as they were out of the restaurant, France slung his arm around England's waist and pulled him to his side. England tried to protest, but France silenced him with a kiss to the lips.

"From here on out, your little 'PDA' rules don't apply," France said. "At least for tonight." He flashed that smile again and kissed England's throat. "Now get in the car."

England, flushed but pleased, got into the car without protest. France drove them off to his place and didn't even bother to take his shoes off before he tackled England into a hot and heavy make-out session. They shed clothes on their way up the stairs and England thought his heart would burst from joy as France took him in his warm embrace, letting him wrap his fingers up in the Frenchman's hair, feeling his need for France. One of the best things about France was that there was no shortage of passion in anything he did. The summer heat turned things sweaty fast, but neither of the two men seemed bothered by it much. _How could one think of anything else when in bed with him?_ they both thought.

When they were finished, France drew the covers up around them and pulled his _Angleterre _into his arms and held him close as they drifted off to sleep.

"You are too tempting, _mon amour_," France murmured sleepily.

"What can I say?" England replied. "It's something I was born with."

"I doubt that." Even half-asleep France could be infuriating.

"Oh, do shut up," England replied, planting a kiss on France's lips and then a tender one on his forehead. "Go to sleep."

"Mmm…" A smile crossed France's sweet lips and then he was silent. England smiled broadly to himself and snuggled closer to his beloved. Surely this was his own little slice of heaven. He closed his eyes, full to the brim with joy. It really didn't get any better than this.

He was awakened later that night to an empty bed. He felt around for France but hit only empty sheets. They were still warm, though. He opened up his bleary eyes and saw France scrambling to get dressed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, confused.

"Something came up," France announced. "I have to go. You can keep sleeping, I'll be back later."

"What is it?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, _cheri_." France kissed him goodbye and left the room. England laid there for a moment before gathering the sheets around his waist and looking out the window. Outside, a girl with dark hair in pigtails was standing. She wore a pink dress. _Seychelles?_ England looked at the clock. It was three a.m. What did she want?

France came out the door and met her on the sidewalk. Seychelles leaned up and greeted him with a kiss. The two started down the sidewalk and England's heart was replaced by a cold stone when Seychelles slipped her hand into France's and they walked away, swinging their linked hands.

At first he was incensed. _France left me for her? In the middle of the night? It couldn't even wait until tomorrow!_ Then his rage fizzled out and he just felt tired. Hadn't he warned himself on his way over here that France was a man-whore? Here was the proof! England buried his face into a pillow which smelled regrettably of France.

"I don't care that France sleeps with a million other people!" he declared. "If it mattered to me, I'd make sure I was the only one France loved. But I don't care, because I don't love France!"

The words sounded hollow, even to England. Especially spoken in the still-warm, slightly damp sheets he had shared hours ago with his lover. They sounded like the words of a man fighting a losing battle.

* * *

><p>Okay, so clearly this didn't come out as well as my other FrUK oneshots. I tried, but it just wasn't coming tonight. I hope you enjoy anyway, but I'll understand if you come away thinking 'What the hell was that?'<p>

They use each other's human names when in public places for an extended time (versus just walking down the sidewalk) to avoid attracting attention.

Les Enfants Perdu is an actual restaurant in Paris (I've been there!) and their wait-staf is uber-hot, especially the guy who served our table ;) However, I don't think it's gotten any large recognition in Paris, I just wanted to use it as their dinner place.


End file.
